


Friendly Competition

by lemonypond



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Gen, Season/Series 01, before hydra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1308667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonypond/pseuds/lemonypond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz and Ward go to the shooting range.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly Competition

**Author's Note:**

> I got bored last night, and was given a FitzWard bonding prompt. This was the result.

The Bus was grounded in an undisclosed location for a routine maintenance check. Coulson and May had meetings with high level SHIELD clearance. Agent Grant Ward assumed he would be going with them. He went to follow, before being stopped in his tracks by Agent Coulson. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Coulson asked. 

“With you. Am I not going with you? We have the same clearance,” answered Ward, puzzled. 

“You are going to spend the day with Fitz,” Coulson said plainly. 

“Sir?” 

“If you’ll recall, he’s just finished work on a whole new line of weaponry, the Night Night Gun, or the Icers, whatever he’s calling them this time. He would appreciate your feedback and analysis.” 

“He would?” Ward asked, increasingly skeptical, placing his hands on his hips. “Sir, with all do respect, I-“ 

Coulson cocked an eyebrow as he placed his aviators on his face. “Skye has to go to a S.H.I.E.L.D. mandated seminar after her and Simmons’ recent… _incident…_ with Agent Sitwell. And well Simmons felt so guilty she volunteered to go too. So you’re on Fitz duty,” he said before heading out the open cargo hold. 

Ward clenched his jaw. “Fffff-“ he began, then suddenly felt a slap on his back, “-iiiitz!” he quickly recovered, turning around. “What’s going on?” 

“Well, I’m glad you asked, Agent Ward, I’m glad you asked,” Fitz said. “I was hoping you’d accompany me to the shooting range. I want measure your accuracy with the new Icers; I’m a good shot but you’re the one that will be out in the field using them.”

“I’m so glad you’ve changed the name,” Ward quickly answered. 

“You and Simmons, the both of you, I swear,” Fitz paused, placing his hands on his hips, unintentionally mirroring Ward. “I quite liked the Night Night gun...” he said wistfully. 

Fitz and Ward made their way through the maze of their undisclosed location, each carrying multiple cases containing Fitz’s latest weaponry. Fitz also carried a backpack containing what Ward could only assume was some computer gadgetry and snacks.  Ward walked silently while Fitz rambled about the time he pranked Simmons in their second semester by programming her alarm clock to say ‘ _Better get up Fitz is already smarter than me._ ’ in her own voice. Ward wouldn’t admit it, but it was actually one of Fitz’ better stories. After a lengthy walk through four different security wings they found their way to the shooting range. 

“…and the funniest thing is she refused to buy a new clock; said it was the principle or some rubbish,” Fitz finished. 

Ward tried his best not to smile as he checked his watch. He didn’t know what Simmons _really_ was to Fitz or vice versa, but he knew that Fitz hadn’t stopped talking about Jemma Simmons for the last twenty five minutes. Ward put on his best serious agent face. “We’re here,” he said. 

“Ah…already? That was a quick walk,” Fitz said, placing his cases on the table next to him. “Let’s start with the pistols, shall we?” 

Ward placed the cases he was carrying on the table adjacent to the Fitz’s. “Are we using the cartridges with the dendrotoxin?” he asked. 

“Yes and no,” Fitz began explaining, unpacking his backpack. “They are the same cartridges, same composite, same weight; but instead of the dendrotoxin Simmons rigged these up with ink, that way we’re not wasting the dendrotoxin for our accuracy tests.”  Fitz set out two bottles of water, a pair of apples and pair of rather large, expertly wrapped sandwiches. One marked with an ‘F’ and one with a ‘W’. “The ink is the same densitiy so the breakup will mimic the same pattern we’d see with the actual cartridges,” he continued. “Since the dummies and targets aren’t actual people.” He then unpacked his tablet and one of his D.W.A.R.F.s, _Bashful._  

“That’s…really smart,” Ward said, unable to think of a better response. He clicked a round of cartridges into place in the pistol he was holding, then went into a quick stance, crossing his left arm over his right, squinting his eyes as if looking into a noon sun. 

“You always do that,” Fitz said, smiling. 

Ward stood up taller, dropping the gun to his side. “I do not.” 

“I’m Agent Grant Ward and I can shoot a hole in a quarter from fifty feet while standing on one foot in a class five tornado,” Fitz said, holding up his gun, mimicking Ward’s moves. 

Ward glared. 

“Sorry. Simmons usually laughs at that,” Fitz’s face went red. He wanted to kick himself. 

“It’s seventy _five_ feet, on one foot in a class five _hurricane_. Get your facts straight, Fitz,” Ward deadpanned. Fitz stared at him, not sure what to say. Was Ward joking with him? Seeing Fitz’s confused face, Ward burst into a smile. 

“Oh. Oh, you’re joking!” Fitz said leaning back, laughing awkwardly. “That was good, that was good! But it’s got to be a bit more nasally than that,” 

“I’m not nasally,” Ward said defensively. “Why do you guys keep saying I’m nasally?” 

“No, no of course not. Of course not,” Fitz said, trying to regain his composure. “Ok, so we’ve got two targets set up ten meters away.” 

“So that’s what, thirty three feet?” Ward asked, aiming his pistol at the target. 

“Yes, Agent Ward,” Fitz said somewhat surprised. “Thirty two point eight, technically.” He lined up next to Ward taking aim at the target in front of him. 

“I rounded up-” Ward said, unleashing his full round into the target. Unsurprisingly, he hit the center of the target every time. 

Fitz knew he had nothing to prove to Ward, but Fitz was in competition with himself. He also happened to have a bet with Simmons. If Fitz was more accurate than Ward, Simmons would have to clean the lab every night for a week. If Ward was more accurate, Fitz would have to clean the lab. The loser would also have to wear a neon green sash that said ‘ _Statistically significant LOSER_ ’ for a week.  Fitz really didn’t want to have to wear it again. He stepped up, took aim, and shot all ten cartridges into the target in front of him. 

“Not bad, Fitz,” Ward said, impressed. Fitz had hit the target dead center ten times. Fitz stood back and compared his target to Wards. They were virtually identical. 

“Looks a lot like yours, Ward,” he said, reaching for his tablet. He tapped onto it, and _Bashful_ took off to scan both targets. On his screen they overlaid onto each other. They lined up perfectly. “Exactly like yours, actually,” he said, showing his screen to an impressed Ward. 

“Let’s go again, this time fifty feet,” Ward said, clicking another round into place. 

“How about twenty meters instead?” Fitz asked, clicking the button to change the targets, moving them back further. He then brought _Bashful_ back and placed it on the table. 

“Right, you do things British,” Ward said, then pulled his pistol up, taking aim. He unloaded the round into the target, again landing virtually all the targets into the center. 

Fitz didn’t say a word, just analyzed Ward’s target. He clicked in another round. “That’s pretty impressive Ward,” he said, taking his aim. He unloaded his round. 

Ward looked at Fitz’s target, then back to Fitz. Again it looked that that Fitz was just as accurate as he was. Agent Grant Ward was a competitive man. He tried to mask his annoyance. 

Fitz again tapped on his tablet and _Bashful_ again analyzed the targets. Fitz raised his eyebrows. 

“What is it?” Ward asked, moving over to look at the screen. 

“Well, it turns out Agent Ward, that you were three percent less accurate than I was,” Fitz said. 

“Let me see that,” Ward said, grabbing the tablet away from Fitz. 

“HEY!” Fitz said, annoyed. 

Ward looked over the display. Fitz wasn’t lying. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw, handing the tablet back to Fitz. “Fifty meters,” Ward said. 

Fitz smiled. “Okay. Pistols or rifles?” he asked.

“Both,” Ward answered, standing back, smiling. He underestimated Fitz. 

Fitz pushed the button and the targets were replaced and moved back to fifty meters. “After you,” he said. 

Ward took aim. Fitz took aim. The targets looked the same. _Bashful_ analyzed the targets. “You are two point seven percent,” Fitz said, pausing for dramatic effect, "ohHO! _Less_ accurate than Agent Leo Fitz!”  
  
“What?” Ward asked, jaw dropping just slightly. “Give me your gun.” 

“They are identical, Ward,” Fitz said. Ward weighed them both in his hands. _Dammit, Fitz is right_ , he thought to himself. 

Ward turned towards Fitz, sizing him up. He wondered what it was that kept him from gaining his field clearance. “Rifles,” he said, handing the gun back to Fitz.  Ward wouldn’t admit it, but he was having fun.  “Nice work, Fitz,” Ward said, slapping Fitz on the back. 

“Care to eat first?” Fitz asked, placing the pistol back in its case. He grabbed the waters, handing one to Ward. 

“Alright,” Ward said, taking the water. “You know, Fitz, I’m impressed. I didn’t realize you were such a good shot,” he said, leaning against the wall. 

Fitz nodded. “Well, I do design the guns; I shoot them quite frequently to make sure they work properly.” 

“I guess I just never thought about that,” Ward said, unwrapping his sandwich and taking a bite. “Mmmm! This is good!” he said excitedly with his mouth full of food. 

“Oh you like it? That’s the sandwich you threw away in Ossetia!” Fitz answered, smiling. 

“Did you make this?” Ward asked, wiping his mouth and reaching for his water. 

“Me? No. Simmons did. I told her what we’d be up to today and she made them. She said she felt bad about not making you one before.” 

“She did?” Ward asked. “Wait. You never told her what happened, did you?” 

Fitz smirked. “Nah, I didn’t have the heart to tell her. She asked me point blank if I liked it. You should’ve seen her face, Ward. I couldn’t tell her that you threw it to the rats.” 

“Fitz…we went through this,” Ward said with an authoritative tone. 

“I know! I know, “Fiz said, “Anyway, she made them, she makes this pesto aioli and she adds just a- what?” Fitz was talking with his hands, and suddenly stopped, seeing Ward raise his eyebrows. 

“Nothing,” Ward said, taking another bite. “Is there anything Simmons can’t do?” 

Fitz finished his bite, then answered. “She can’t lie, that’s for sure, but you know that.” Ward nodded in agreement. “She can’t do a decent American accent-It’s just terrible. She can’t do a handstand either. Or so she says. I think she just says that because she knows I can and she wants me to think I’m better than her at something.” Fitz took another bite, then spoke again after he swallowed. “She’s really the brains of this whole operation.” 

Ward smiled. He’d never had a conversation with Fitz this long that wasn’t in hostile territory, he wasn’t nearly as annoying as he thought back then. He reminded him of his little brother when they were younger. “So if she’s the brains, then what are you?” he asked. 

Fitz sat down his water bottle and turned to face Ward. ”Well, isn’t it obvious?” Fitz took another bite of his sandwich and grinned. ”I’m the beauty.” He had pesto all over his face. 

Ward burst into laughter. “Obviously,” he said. His competitive streak from earlier had subsided. “Well tell her I said it was delicious. What time are they supposed to be finished with their seminar?” 

Fitz shrugged his shoulders. “Three o’clock?” he said, checking his watch, then grabbing an apple. “So Ward, you speak six languages.” Ward nodded, his mouth full of food. “And you are a skilled marksman, and know three different forms of martial arts.” 

Ward swallowed and nodded again. “I also sing an impressive baritone,” he added with a half-smile. 

Fitz laughed. “You do not.” Fitz couldn’t tell if Ward was trying to joke again. 

“It’s true!” Ward said, taking the last bite of his sandwich.  

Fitz shook his head, “I don’t believe you. Prove it.” He said, finishing his apple. 

“Not here, Fitz!” Ward laughed. “We’ll do karaoke one day, and I’ll knock your socks off.” 

“You finished?” Fitz asked, getting up to throw away his trash. 

Ward took the last bite of his apple, then did the same. “You ready to go down, Agent Fitz?” 

“Oh you think you can come from behind and defeat me?” Fitz asked, slapping Ward on the back. 

“Get out the rifles, son,” Ward said straight faced, his eyes betraying his attempted seriousness. 

They went head to head with the rifles at fifty meters. Fitz deployed _Bashful._ Ward eyed Fitz as the data came to his tablet. Fitz frowned. 

“Advantage Ward. One point seven three more accurate,” Fitz said. “But-“he continued, turning towards Ward. “Overall advantage still belongs to Agent Leo Fitz.” 

The smile on Grant Ward’s face quickly fell. “One. Hundred. Meters,” he said. 

“Alright, one hundred meters, coming right up,” Fitz said, hitting the button one last time. 

 

All at once, they both said-

“For all the glory-“

“For Simmons-“

 

“What?” Ward asked, doing a double take and cocking his head to the side. 

“Errrrmmm. Uhm. For all the glory. Right. All the glory,” Fitz tried to cover. 

“Riight,” Ward said, eyeing Fitz as he turned toward the target. 

They took aim with their rifles from one hundred meters. From their standpoint the targets looked the same. 

“ _Bashful,”_ they said together, setting down their rifles. 

Ward stood antsy, arms crossed, waiting for Fitz to deploy the drone.  With a faint buzz the drone lifted off and scanned the targets. Fitz’s face remained stoic. 

“Well?” Ward asked. 

“Well. Through five rounds of competition, Agent Grant Ward is…ninety seven point three seven one percent accurate. Very impressive, Ward.” Fitz said, eyes still trained on his tablet. 

“Thank you, Agent Fitz.” 

“Aaaaaaand, Agent Leo Fitz is…is ninety seven point three seven _…. nine_ percent accurate,” Fitz said, barely hiding the sound of triumph in his voice. He looked over to Ward, thinking that he would be mad. 

Grant Ward couldn’t believe it, but he wasn’t mad; he felt pretty good knowing that Fitz was a crack shot. “Impressive Fitz, but is that statistically significant?” he asked. 

Fitz looked at him, then back at his tablet. “Well…no, not technically.” 

“So we’re even then.” Ward said, placing his hands on his hips. 

“Well…no, not technically,” Fitz said, trying to conceal a smile. 

“But you just said-“ 

“Well…..you see Ward, I was still technically more accurate than you, even if it wasn’t statistically significant. I still won.” 

“Oh, c’mon Fitz! Let’s go again! Five hundred yards!” 

Fitz laughed, packing up his gear. “Ward, c’mon, the shooting range doesn’t even extend that far! I beat you!” 

"These new guns are great Fitz, really," Ward said, shaking his head. He didn’t expect to have this much fun with Fitz. He’d have to thank Coulson when they returned to the Bus. “Let’s get back to the Bus,” he said, packing up his guns. 

“Yeah,” Fitz smiled. “Did I ever tell you about the time Simmons and I…“ 

Ward laughed to himself as they left the shooting range. “No, you didn’t...”


End file.
